A Moment in Time

silk. The only jewelry she wore was her wedding band, and her dainty feet were bare.

As the first light of dawn touched the distant horizon they came for her. About her slender neck they placed a heavy leather horse collar which rested with brutal weight upon her slim shoulders and caused her to stagger as she was led outside to a stone mounting block before the castle's main gate. Those about her were all members of the council. Pwyll was nowhere in evidence.

'You will sit here, woman of the Fair Folk,' said Cynbel of Teifi. He spoke her race as if it were a curse. 'To each person who comes past you will say, standing, 'As I murdered my child, I am condemned to remain here for a term of seven years. Should you wish to enter the court of Pwyll of Dyfed it is my duty to bear you upon my back into the prince's hall. This is my punishment.' Do you understand, woman of the Fair Folk?'

'I did not murder my son,' Rhiannon said quietly.

'The child is gone. You will not produce him. It is the same thing. The council has judged you guilty of infanticide. If you do not speak the words assigned you, you will be punished further. You may expect no help or intervention from the prince. He has left you entirely in our charge,' Cynbel said coldly. 'Now let me hear you speak your part as I have told you, that I may be satisfied you know them.'

'I will speak them,' Rhiannon told him, 'but your words cannot make so that which is not, Cynbel of Teifi.'

Word of the cruel punishment placed on Rhiannon of the Fair Folk spread throughout all the lands of Cymri. Those who passed by or into Pwyll's castle would not suffer the beautiful, obviously grieving woman to bear them on her frail back. If anything, they were shamed by the treatment meted out by the council of Dyfed and astounded that Pwyll did nothing to clear his wife of the charges against her.

The common people murmured among themselves, suspicious of the quick judgment visited upon Rhiannon. They knew nothing but good of this princess of the Fair Folk. How, they asked themselves, could a woman not even recovered from the birth of an eagerly awaited child be party to a plot to harm him? And why? And once again the question of why no one sought to locate the lost infant. They were poor and powerless in the main, but they did not lack good sense.

When the third full day of her punishment had passed, and Rhiannon sat quiet and alone in the farthermost corner of the Great Hall of Dyfed, she heard Taran's voice near her.

'We have news, princess. On the night your child disappeared, wine was brought to the women watching over you and the babe. It came with the compliments of Bronwyn of the White Breast. After they had drunk it, your women fell into a deep sleep. All but one. The lady newly come to court did not drink the wine, for wine she told us, disagrees with her. She remained awake and saw what happened. She has been afraid to speak for fear she would not be believed. Then, too, she allowed herself to be involved in the chief waiting woman's lie. She is riddled with shame over her cowardice, and filled with remorse for her part in this affair. I discovered we are related, and so she is willing to speak to me, but she will say nothing to anyone else.'

Rhiannon put her hands over her mouth, pretending to cough, and said, 'Who stole my son?'

'The woman does not know exactly,' Taran said, 'but this is what she told me. In the middle of the night she began to doze off, only to be aroused by the sound of the casement rattling violently. The window flew open and a great, huge arm ending in a large, clawed hand reached through and lifted the sleeping baby most gently from his cradle. The lady was terrified and did not know what to do. She fainted from her fear, she tells me, and when she regained consciousness, the child was quite gone. She closed the window and locked it tightly, telling no one of the incident until she spoke with me. She knows nothing more. Does any of this make any sense to you, my lady?'

'Twas no mortal creature who did this thing,' Rhiannon replied with certainty, 'but as for what it was or who it was that has stolen my son, I do not know. The Fair Folk might be able to help us. I am unable to leave here Taran, but you must not go alone. It is too dangerous a trip for a lone Cymri, for by now my own people will have learned of Dyfed's judgment upon me. They will be angered, though we are a gentle people by nature.'

Taran gazed down the hall to see if they were being observed and, relieved they were not, said, 'Evan and I will go together.'

'Aye, gracious lady,' Evan ap Rhys replied, 'but you must tell us how to get back to your father's castle, for well I recall your wedding day when the thicket opened before you as you came and closed behind us when we had passed.'

'You must politely ask the forest to allow you to pass through,' Rhiannon told them in low tones. 'Say, 'For the sake of our lady Rhiannon who is sore pressed, let us pass, oh fair woodlands,' and you will find you are able to pass.' Then she went on to quickly give them the directions they would need to find her sister's palace in the lake.

They left her then, and the following day she watched as Taran of the Hundred Battles and Evan ap Rhys set forth upon a quest that would keep them from Dyfed for many months to come. As they rode off she was overwhelmed with sadness, for they were her only friends within the court, but then a visitor approached the gates to Pwyll's castle. Rhiannon arose dutifully and said her pitiful little piece, not even bothering to look at the women before her until a sneering voice commanded,

'Come then, witch of the Fair Folk! Come nearer the block that I may mount you!'

Rhiannon's violet eyes met the belligerent gaze of Bronwyn of the White Breast. Dutifully she bent her body, and Bronwyn clambered upon Rhiannon's back, wrapping her arms in a choke hold about her victim's neck while her legs curled tightly about Rhiannon's slender waist.

'Go quickly then, witch!' Bronwyn said, cruelly digging her heels into the princess's sides. 'Take me directly into the hall, witch! Others may feel sorry for you, but I do not. You have only gotten what you so richly deserve for stealing Pwyll from me by means of your vile enhancements, but magic cannot help you now! You are powerless, woman of the Fair Folk, but I am not!'

'What have you done with my son?' Rhiannon gasped.

Bronwyn laughed nastily. 'You can prove nothing against me, else you would have already acted to save yourself; but I am not finished with you yet, woman of the Fair Folk. Long before your term of punishment is finished, Pwyll will be cajoled into divorcing you and putting you aside. He will marry me, and I shall reign by his side as Dyfed's princess. Our son, my son, a child whose blood will remain pure Cymri and free from any taint of foreign contamination that would defile it, shall rule Dyfed after us! Not your son with his mixed blood and odd ways. My son! And on our wedding night, mine and Pwyll's, you will be brought to our nuptial chamber bound and gagged to watch as Pwyll makes love to me, and I pleasure him as only I know how! You will know, for women, even women of the Fair Folk, are instinctive in that way, the very moment in which Pwyll plants his seed in me and it takes root!' And Bronwyn laughed all the harder, plying Rhiannon with her riding crop as the princess made her way into the Great Hall with the unpleasant burden upon Ijjer back.

Rhiannon said nothing, but she fought back her tears. What could she possibly say? She was, as Bronwyn had pointed out, defenseless. She could only bear her burden in patient silence. Each day for several weeks Bronwyn came and insisted upon being carried into the hall by Rhiannon. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, this particular form of torture ceased. Rhiannon overheard the servants in her husband's hall saying that Cynbel had forbidden his daughter her displays of open cruelty toward Rhiannon. It did not do her cause with Pwyll any good, and only made the gentle Rhiannon appear a martyr in the eyes of all.

Bronwyn found other, more subtle ways to torment Rhiannon. She sat next to Pwyll at the high board regularly, fussing over the still-dazed prince, personally selecting choice bits from the serving platters to set upon his plate. She gave him wine to drink from her own cup, laughing up into his face in an effort to please him. At first her obvious little ploys seemed to have little effect upon Pwyll's state, but then a change, slow at first, seemed to come over him. If he was no longer merry, he at least responded to those about him, particularly Bronwyn. Rhiannon's heart ached, seeing their two dark heads together.

Pwyll was a somber, tragic man now. His laughter was no longer heard to echo through the hall, nor did he ever smile. Sometimes his eyes would stray to that dark, far corner where his wife sat upon a small wooden stool, shunned and alone with her thoughts; but more often than not as time passed, Rhiannon seemed to blend into the shadows and smoke of the hall until he could not even see her. It was as if she was not there, his golden princess of the Fair Folk, and Pwyll's heart seemed to shrivel within his breast.

In that far corner of the Great Hall of Dyfed was a little recessed alcove where Rhiannon slept at night. At first